Of Harvesters and Seeds
by Robinxen
Summary: A political incident is brewing in Polystralia, which might cost Freeland its launch. An ARC data chip is missing, along with one of their employees. Saxa, a troubled scientist from the successful university that graduated Hutama, is being blackmailed into taking something Beyond Earth. When Verity gets involved she realises that the item could cost humanity The Seeding.
1. Chapter 1

When high tide comes to New Sydney the city falls quiet. The waves of the sea lap up against the lower buildings designed to be partially submerged. The waves twist and sway, with the water rolling, and occasionally the odd crash echoes as a wave bounces off the flood gates. Up on the streets elevated over the water layer, and on the maglevs, Polystralians pass by, performing tasks or going to work. On some rare occasions people lean over the side, wondering at the city that used to be below, or suffering from vertigo at the elevated position.

Today however New Sydney was even more quiet than usual. In the building designed to mimic the old opera house, the New Sydney police force was listening in. Communication Officer Giles Sparrow sits at his large computer system. The display shows current electronic communication activity within the city, but not what is currently being said. His eye flicks to and fro from the door, wary that the program running in the background could get him fired. His fingers dash across the keyboard as he flicks up the current American Reclamation Corporation stock readings, while it was hidden under the communication reports anybody would be able to recognise the iconic logo. The data transfer between his computer and the ARC reports is hidden under several layers of encryption masked by standard Polystralian messages to the ARC.  
>To keep him busy he has the constant jittering of citizens. As his console buzzes he flips the switch and answers the call in a professional manner.<br>'Please may you state the name' he says as he pulls his headset over his face. As the caller relays information he carefully enters it into the user interface. 'Karl? Is that spelt like Carl? No, ok. Nationality?' A flash from his computer told him that ARC had risen in value. 'Even if I could tell he was American I still have to follow procedure. Date of birth?' The computer continues to show rising value in the ARC. 'Finally, last known location?'  
>The information continues to be fed into the file and in the background the ever present promise of a larger dividend from the ARC kept him fixated. He finishes the file and stores the form in the usual location. The missing-person report would be collected by the Polystralian Data Management centre within the next five minutes ready for delivery to the correct receivers.<p>

'Good for you Kozlov! Family man and cosmonaut, best man for the job!'  
>Chief of Police James Clifton catches himself before he goes on, quickly scanning the room to reassure himself that he is alone in his small office room. As the chief he is tasked with looking at the international prospects of his job, as well as the city aspects. His computer displays both the Slavic seeding updates and the usual Hutama radio talk, both over the top of a report on the international trade reports in the port, and the ARC Polystralian department feed. As he waits for the scheduled update he steps up, walks over the window and watches as the flood gates reopen to lower the water level now the high tide had passed.<br>The unmistakable alarm buzzes in the background, the lower levels were almost safe for use. A beep from the computer ends the moment of reflection.  
>'Ok, looks like the next launch is in a few minutes' James whispered.<br>While he has no jurisdiction over the international affairs, they constantly got wound into New Sydney. The capital of Polystralia, and the largest port on the planet, was perhaps the economic powerhouse of the globe. Both the ARC and Kavithan Protectorate held a strong presence in the city, ensuring their share of the massive food export by the Polystralian marine facilities. As he studies the report, a countdown flashes on screen, he opens the window and hears the rumble of another rocket entering orbit providing more supplies to the impending Freeland expedition.

On a small desk tucked into the corner of the room, a smooth well-spoken voice is going over the same questions that everyone knew the answers to regarding the Seeding. Verity, sitting in front of her computer, keeps her eyes and her attention fixed to the small screen while she types with furious speed. At the moment her roommate, Timothy Walker, sprawls out on the sofa nearby, listening to Hutama's interview.  
>'The common man and woman in Jakarta and Sydney must understand who's going…' Hutama is saying.<br>While the data file is being processed Verity leans back to ponder, eight months he'd been her roommate he is long and lanky, a slightly pale colour with dark hair and green eyes. He's also one of the few people she knows who looks young because he is young, rejuv drugs keep everyone looking young, even if they have lived up to a century more. Tim yawns from the sofa and flicks his hair across his face with one hand, gently rolling over.  
>The buzz from the computer prompts Verity to start typing again, the documents she's creating are written in Welsh, an obscure language she's programmed into the computer to help protect her data. The computer itself is equipped with several security programs and is disconnected from the main networks to assist in the endeavour. She publicly runs a small research and development firm, inherited down the family line since the Great Mistake, responsible for some of the technology that enables Polystralia's expansive marine farms and food production. Her income however comes from the trade of information, carefully accumulated from a myriad of sources. If anyone got into her system they could sell it for enough energy to tempt even the richest into stealing it.<br>'Verity you not gonna listen?' Tim called from the seat while gesturing to the radio.  
>'It's just another chat about Freeland. Besides, it's never going to concern us.'<br>'But they're going to do it. Freeland is going to go to another world.' He sounds oddly mournful about this prediction. 'This is going to be the greatest moment in human history.'  
>With an impatient shake of her head, she clears the screen. She'll finish the report later. She gets up, walks over to the sofa, pulls him off and sits down, leaving him to scramble up to reclaim a seat.<br>On the back of his neck was a small barcode, while prisons were less used now the government still had its method of keeping track of criminals, prioritising in preventing them from accessing Freeland.  
>'Ouch, you know…' Tim begins to say 'It kinda hurts when you do that, and listening to this.'<br>'I know. Maybe you should change station?'  
>He shrugs 'I keep thinking, imagine, how great would it be to be one of them, you know? In the broadcasts, being given a home near the site. I could have been a colonist you know. If…'<br>'I am aware.'  
>'I ruined my whole damn life-' He breaks off, with a deep sigh he sits up and turns to look at her.<br>'Ah what the hell' he says at last. 'At least I have this home.'  
>'Hmmm.' She gives a vengeful glare.<br>'Hey! Not what I meant!' He quickly remarks in response to her glare.  
>'Really?'<br>'Yeah, why don't we just turn off the radio?'

The science labs in Sumatera Utara smell of chlorine and steam, tempered a bit with chemicals and staleness, a very artificial smell. Chester Siriam, the only person in the room, however notices a slight smell of triumph in the room as well. Hutama had once again brought the department into the spotlight in today's interview, and his usually rational mind opened to the possibilities. The small white room, lined with equipment, has fallen silent, but a clatter and whine from the lab next door reminds him that automated sterilization system will activate soon. He'd better get done before it sweeps the room with radiation.  
>Chester always leaves the department last, no matter what the experiment is – his colleagues swear this habit of his brings them their good grades. After each major experiment he sits in the room and reviews the data in his mind, but today he can't concentrate. In twenty-one years of education, he has never faced the prospect of doing a presentation.<br>'It's just one more speech away,' he whispers 'Then one decision, maybe I will make it yet.'  
>Although the rejuv drugs kept him looking much younger, he was many years old. Thanks to the rejuv, he also manages to partake in most activities, too, but his age is a concern. The thought of giving up on Freeland, simply to make way for someone younger, hurts. Chester forces the thought away, standing, shoves his hands into the lab coats pockets. Something else is bothering him though, he realises, an unfamiliar noise. A repetitive noise. He disables all the water and gas flows to the room, but the unease doesn't end. Listening, he notices that footsteps are coming from beyond the lab. In a distant hallway someone is walking back and forth, almost timed. They pause for exactly three seconds, move five steps, pause and repeat.<br>'What the frell?' Chester runs his fingers through his dark hair and decides that it's combed enough.  
>He leaves the lab in a proper fashion. The tiny hallway, where radios and speaker systems line the wall, stands empty with all the doors closed. He can hear the footsteps even more clearly now, he steps out into the next corridor. The white passage leads to the garden, there's no reason for anyone to be there this time of night. The door to the garden, normally kept locked, stands wide open and allows a view of the sky. On the patio he sees someone, a man, walking back and forth. It's Saxa Kay, he realises, one of the universities colonist candidates. Not only does Chester like the kid, but he's scheduled to start the presentation, which means his welfare is Chester's welfare. Back in the shadows by the door to the labs, he hesitates, wondering what on Earth he's up to. He opens his mouth to ask him, but before he can Saxa begins to make a move towards the labs. His eyes stare at the night as he strides into the door, not noticing Chester. He stops about a dozen steps inside, takes a deep breath that could be heard clearly, and begins to open one of the lab doors. Chester calls out just as the lock is about to click.<br>'Greetings, whatcha doing?'  
>The surprise catches him in the moment, in shock he stumbles backwards bouncing off a wall. Bracing himself he yells incoherently and takes off running down the corridors. Chester, snarling a curse, goes after him. While Saxa had a head start and longer legs, Chester knew all the corners in this area of the site and could keep up with every turn he made. Using a shortcut Chester easily comes out in front and with a thud they both land in a pile just before the stairs to cold storage.<br>'Step back!' Chester groans 'Quickly.' With a lurch they yank each other up and away from the stairs. 'You don't want to fall down them. You'll hurt yourself really badly.'  
>Saxa pulls himself to his feet, for a moment he stands there staring at the floor. With a sudden jump his eyes snap to and he looks up. 'Mind your own business ok Chester! What are you even doing here?'<br>'I could ask you that. Mind my own business? Not happening, undergrad. The seeding is this universities business. We need you ready for that expedition, not on the disabled list.'  
>'You don't know anything about it!'<br>'Yeah, I don't know, the solution is that you tell me.'  
>Saxa runs both his hands over his coat, staring at the floor. Even in the dim light it is obvious that he is pouting like a child at the floor.<br>'Well, whatever it may be.' Chester says to break the tension. 'You better go to your accommodation and sleep it off. This presentation is a big deal.' It might be the pressure Chester concludes, the entire reputation of the science department rests on his opening speech at the colonist election. 'Look, I'll walk you back.'  
>When Chester begins to stride off Saxa follows, to much relief. In a sullen silence they trailed back to the lab to retrieve Chester's equipment. Although they both walk in Saxa spends the time barely looking up. Saxa says nothing until they leave the campus. Outside, broken concrete parking areas spread out from the large stone building like seas around a deserted ship. The sound of the sea nearby washes over them, in the public parking lots Chester's small blue car is parked all on its own. Beyond it runs a small elevated street but nothing is moving along it. The students and staff have long since gone home. They both cross the concrete together, picking their way through the rubbish that has blown in. Chester begins to steer Saxa towards the car but he trails off.<br>'I'm ok now' Saxa starts to say, avoiding eye contact. 'Uh, I can catch a cab, like I always do. You don't have to baby-sit me.'  
>'Yeah but you always leave earlier than this too. Not going to be many cabs at this time, and your loans won't cover the energy cost if you do get one. I don't mind dropping you off.'<br>As he speaks Saxa slides away and stiff-legged makes way towards the street. Chester overtakes him in three strides and grabs his arm.  
>'I'll wait with you. That way if nothing comes you don't have to stand there all day.'<br>When he tries to pull away Chester raises an eyebrow.  
>'Don't give me that look!' Saxa yells.<br>'At least you're looking at me now.' Chester says with a triumphant tease.  
>On the horizon the first hint of dawn is approaching, the musky clouds hide most of it but the ardent fire from behind it suggests the sun rising. As the sun rises so does the level of traffic, along the magrail a couple of trucks float by, carrying more Freeland components. The huge energy expenditure to move things along magrail meant that it was restricted to government use, which in turn was restricted to Freeland. Along the street a couple of smaller cars pass by, and finally the distinctive black square of a cab begins to charge towards them.<br>'You still won't afford it.' Chester says as he throws his arm out to get the cabs attention.  
>Instantly Saxa darts forward and into the street, one of the cars swerves just in time. Chester drops his equipment and jumps after him, almost being knocked down by the swerving car. He catches some eye contact with the driver, with an intense stare down that ends as quickly as it starts. Nearby the cab screeches as it avoids both the other cars and the two men struggling in the street. Staggering back onto the pavement Chester, fuelled with adrenaline, pulls Saxa out of the street. For a moment it looks like Saxa is about to cry, his hands covering his face while he kneels on the floor.<br>'Godspeed man!' Chester screams. 'If you get hit by one of those cars and you'll be in hospital for months, not to mention in debt for years. Those drivers would have sued for a fortune.'  
>Saxa looks up, about to speak, but merely shrugs. His face drained of blood and his legs tense.<br>'I mean seriously!' Chester goes on. 'Are you seriously trying to get yourself seriously hurt?'  
>Saxa collapses to the floor, shaking like he's locked out a house in winter. Then Chester realised, hurting himself is exactly what Saxa has been trying to do all night.<br>'On your feet!' Chester snaps 'You're not leaving my sight now.'  
>This time there is no sign of hesitation.<p>

The sight of the blue car, a small jeep, with real leather interior, seems to bring a sense of comfort and awe to Saxa. Smiling they both stroke the worn metal, then with a lurch open the door. Once they've got their seatbelts on, and the safety locks on the doors on, Chester ponders what do with Saxa. There wasn't cause to call the police yet, even if the Freeland expedition was a focal factor. When the key turns in the ignition instead of the usual splutter from pre-Mistake cars there is the gentle hum of a generator activating. Electronic systems fire up, all supported by huge numbers of catalysts and batteries to reduce energy expenditure.  
>'What on the face of Earth has got you under siege anyway?' Chester questions. 'You trying to get yourself killed or something?'<br>'No, no…not that.' Saxa responds, in a sincere and fearful voice, void of all doubt.  
>'Just to hurt yourself a little then? So you're pulled out of Freeland and the presentation?' Chester inquires further.<br>Saxa pulls away quickly, turning to face out the door. Chester decides that there's more value in going over what he already knows, and less value in leaving the energy being chewed up idling the generator. Pulling out onto the road he drives the traffic is starting to pick up, and a long bus frequents pass. The buses are the mode of transport the more wealthy use, more direct than the train but less expensive than a cab for long distances. The campus gives way to clusters of tall silver high rises, the buildings of the elevated Jamdelva. Around some of the buildings iconic pneumatic transport tubes are attached, this is where scientists of all types work on brining Polystralia's marine and land edible production to head with advanced protein synthesis for dietary supplements, including rejuv drugs.  
>Chester continues to ponder over what to do with Saxa, he doesn't know him very well. An undergraduate, he keeps to himself mostly, a loner because he's shy. Chester is aware of his lack of friends on campus. He also has a wife, he manages to recall, meeting her once. A very young appearing woman, whose religion seems to give her a sense of sincerity and optimism with a argumentative nature. Then inspiration hit Chester, once again.<br>'Saxa, you ever heard of Miss Sagan?' Chester says.  
>'Of course, who hasn't? Apparently I even met her once.'<br>'Swell, we'll go meet her.'  
>'Say what? But that's…'<br>'A good long way away, apologies for that.'  
>'But I've got to call my wife, let her know where I am! Before she calls the authorities!' Saxa begins to protest.<br>'Sheesh, she calls the police for that? Does she have a leash for you or something?'  
>The familiar tease manages to bring a slight smile to Saxa's face, but he slumps into his chair at the defeat. Chester meanwhile steers the car towards the nearest port, the trip to Sydney was going to be shorter if he could catch a trade vessel.<p>

Out in the collection of ordered warehouses and service centres, between the university and the central business district, crossing a street is a life or death gamble. Some people seem to enjoy leaping into faith and the arms of luck by dashing across them, but the woman hovering on one corner of the road seems to be the opposite. Paying no attention to the other vehicles she does look up to admire the pre-Mistake jeep that drives past in the direction of the port.  
>When the traffic comes to a halt she lifts her bag and begins to trot across, her heels clipping against the floor, to the Polynesian connection railway.<br>Strutting down the stairs places her wrist under the scanner so it can detect her identification barcode. As she hoped, the station feels abandoned. The noise hasn't stopped though, and soon a clumsy train on the grim track pulls up to the platform and comes to a halt, doors jolting open. In the only empty car she takes a seat, right at the back. Were anyone to see her they would wonder what such a respectable looking woman was doing getting the working class transport to Sydney was doing.  
>With a smug sigh, she tugs and smooths her yellow artificial silk dress to maximise modesty. Her aesthetic respectability is about the only remarkable thing about her. Her brown skin, brown eyes and bland undefined features would pass unnoticed in any crowd. Her fashion and valuable clothes are all that set her apart, even if they are still artificial.<br>She knows how out of place she looks though, hoping to minimise her discrepancy by taking the alternative route. Normally she would have reached Sydney by now, but the game had ran late. Though some would see taking the long way round as an excess of caution, she believes with dogmatic assurance that caution always pays. It certainly made her a successful gambler, in addition to an invisible one. Not many expect a pro card sharp to look like a decent woman of a rich family.  
>With a jerk and a long hiss of coolant release, the train starts. She folds her hands in her lap and arranges her face in a pleasantly neutral expression. It feels good to relax, a rare pleasure for her, she let her body sway and bounce with the train as it trailed through the tunnel. Even though she had stayed later than usual, she only reaped a small profit from the game. She accredited this to her favourite pigeon, Karl, not showing up. While she did not miss his annoying traits, she does wonder what it means to her partners plans. His little game within a game has begun to bother her, it was unsafe. She never felt guilty about taking energy from pigeons, there are safe ways of doing it and there are other ways.<br>The top of the tunnel opens up, giving way to the ocean and sunlight above. She turns in her seat to look out the window, the sight of the long dead reef deepens her unease. With a roar the train lurches and is plunged back into artificial light. Since she's nearing Australia she leans forward and prepares to exit. She opts for exiting at Nabiyōṁ Samāpti, a small section of Sydney. The name started off as an insult from the atheist community, it means Prophets End, it was a sneer at the religion of the immigrants coming in from the dying India. The immigrants brought with them their religion, birds and spice plants though. Before long those very immigrants had turned the joke against the athiests. Along with the livestock they brought along a drive for hard work and an accumulated wisdom of thousands of years of civilization, these days the streets there are lined with palm trees grown from precious cold storage sample, the area is perhaps home to the cleanest air in the world. From the station the public park is green with real grass, kept alive with a fortunes worth of water, under the trees and wooden benches are cobble paths that wind round the area, even the atheists who resented the religion of the area come to visit the rare green patch in the city.  
>She doesn't stop to admire the plants, she pulls her scarf over her head to shield herself from the sun and sets out, walking at a rapid pace. She needs to talk to her partner about the night past. If he insists on this deal she will need to find another partner. She prefers to leave his games to those willing to risk everything, caution is always held at her side.<p>

Once the sun is clear of the horizon, Chief Clifton's window darkens to block out most of the sun's harmful radiation, a constant risk now the ozone was all but gone. Through the polarized murk he sees the sun rising behind the New Sydney skyline. He yarms and considers calling for a water, but opts instead for a protein shake from his personal stash. He's going home in a few minutes, and he might finally get some good sleep. He yawns once more, then sits in front of his computer calling up the reports from last night. Nothing major appears to have occurred, only the usual muggings and break ins. There's a couple of missing persons reports and someone of unidentified nationality was found dead in the Old Sydney Bazaar. The death will probably prove self-inflicted because the preliminary reports and autopsy suggest an amazing array of drugs and alcohol combined in his system, as far as nights go it has been rather quiet.  
>He says as much to the officer that comes in a few minutes later, carrying a handheld to get Clifton's signature on the new roster.<br>'Maybe everyone was so busy with Hutama's speech and the Freeland launches last night that they forgot to get into trouble.' The officer says with a grin.  
>'That'll be the day, though it is as likely a reason as any.' The chief retorts.<br>'Freeland is starting to mean a lot here, it's not just us either. All the nations are rooting for The Seeding, even Central Europe. Too damn bad they don't have the resources to do it.'  
>'I thought it was their government? Can't settle on how the colony should be structured?'<br>'Well they must have some reason; maybe they're waiting for ours to go.' The officer shrugs.  
>'We will be the first Seeding expedition to launch, if the presentations go well.' Clifton pauses, struck by a sudden guilt. He is due to oversee the speeches, he's been planning on calling in sick for the first time in his entire career. His men however don't have such luxuries. 'Tell you what, have one of the techs rig up a view screen in the squad room for the presentations. Anyone with a few spare seconds can drop in and see who could be taking Polystralia beyond Earth.'<br>'Chief, thanks! It will be an honour! I'll do that for sure!' the officer rapidly responds with enthusiasm.  
>'It's not much of a favour, the minute they're over I want everyone on duty out there in the streets. Whoever gets chosen as the expeditions department heads there will be supporters and opposition, we could have trouble in the low lands and especially in the Bazaar. We'll be prepared with a full roster, overtime everyone and double the teams.'<br>'The officer writes a note on the handheld, then after finalising the details prepares to leave.  
>'You should get some sleep sir. You look like you need it.' The officer says heading for the door.<br>At that moment a beep from the handheld draws his attention.  
>'Seems urgent sir, it's from the ARC. Something about a missing stock broker.'<br>Clifton sits up straight, his attention peaked, hanging on every word. 'You guess? What missing ARC personnel is this? I haven't heard anything about it.' Snatching the handheld off the officer he reads through the message. A male, ARC employee, missing for approximately two days. According to the message a call was placed to the police earlier in the day. 'Dammit, why hasn't this come up?'  
>Swearing he swivels round to his computer and begins punching keys, are several searches the data of Sparrow's original report.<br>'Stupid idiot, he needs to learn the difference between a standard call and an international incident!' Clifton curses loudly.  
>'You think this is going to be something major, sir?' the officer questions.<br>'Anything involving the ARC and the Seeding is big. I can't believe people can forget things, especially after last time! That was less than a year ago!' Ah man, it's not your fault but we can't handle another mess like that.'  
>'I agree, but I only transferred here towards the end of the incident.' The officer responds.<br>'Well, it started with one of our guys finding a dead ARC employee. Just a small thing, a simple resource skirmish according to our reports. Damn well nearly had the ARC private army in here, let alone the Polystralian mobilisation!' He starts off saying calmly, escalating to an almost fit of rage.  
>Another message comes in, this time directly to Clifton, it is a concise and blunt report with a solid request that his personal attention is assigned to the case. The letter means the ARC are paying attention to his handling of the situation, and as it is signed by the Polystralian ARC departments head.<br>'Crap. I want a department wide message. I need every scrap of data we have, anything and everything on this Karl chap. I'm going to have to head over the ARC Polystralian department and see what they're withholding.' Clifton says, striding over to pick up his rebreather.  
>The officer, being ushered out of the door by Clifton, begins to say 'At the very least this one hasn't been killed.'<br>Before the officer could elaborate on the statement Clifton snorted 'You mean the body hasn't been located. Why don't the ARC keep tabs on their people dammit. International incidents aren't supposed to be my area.'  
>Signing the remaining forms, turning off the computer and locking the door Clifton rushes to the stairs, if the stock broker turns up dead then the presentation may be off the cards.<p>

Sydney lies underneath New Sydney, the Bazaar sits between the industrial districts and the outlying Freeland manufacturing district. During the long boat journey over from the university Saxa hasn't said a thing, but when Chester turns off to go towards the Bazaar a strong wave of unease causes Saxa to squirm and fidget.  
>'Ummm, are you crazy? Coming here at this time of day? I mean this place is dangerous.'<br>'With all them scroungers living off the benefits?' Chester finishes off the train of thought.  
>Although Polystralia, and the university, works hard to overcome and ignore the ancient prejudices of the Great Mistake there are times when even the most well-meaning citizens make slips. It's why Chester makes a point of living in the down trodden towns where most citizens grow up, even though he could afford a house in New Sydney.<br>'Sorry.' Saxa begins. 'There isn't anything like Sydney, or the Bazaar, where I come from. Where are we going?'  
>'Sagan's, like I told you.' Chester tries to envision a city without any slums, but falls short of success. 'Not long now.'<p>

The car jolts down a street, a small shopping road by the looks of it, lined with bars, fast food shops, loan sharks and so forth. Most of the shops look abandoned but the tell-tale signs of continued activity hide behind the façade of derelict fronts. Pot-holes, deeper than those anywhere else, force the car into the air multiple times and highlight the location of the Bazaar on the governments priority list.  
>Saxa stares out the window, his mind seems absent yet stuck in reality. From the stores they pass into a smaller road lined with shelters and dwellings, mostly blocky cubes of cheap concrete row on row. A large apartment building comes into view at the end of one road, pulling up Chester parks right outside. Wary that some locals might see the value in a pre-mistake car he sets the alarm to maximum. After locking the car and pulling out a couple of rebreathers, just in case the weather decides to change in the unprotected streets, he notices that Saxa is almost frozen still.<br>'This is a real neighbourhood, with houses, people and shops.' The list goes on, almost in shock.  
>'What were you expecting? A bunch of tents, surrounded by wooden stakes, and barbarians trying to capture every civilian that walks near? This isn't ancient history.' Chester remarks.<br>They duck into the entrance way, tiled in dark red, which is cooler than the cancer infused light outside. Next to the door, covered in a thin mesh hangs a list of residents. After comming the house of Sagan twice Saxa manages to say something on his own accord.  
>'Guess she isn't in, looks like you can take me home and not have to worry.' He says with great enthusiasm and triumph, only to be destroyed within two seconds by the sound of a female voice coming from the comm unit.<br>'Chester? What on Earth are you doing here?' Sagan's voice cracked on the antique comm unit 'No sense in leaving you out there to get cancer is there, come on up.'  
>Chester yanks on the handle and the door opens, Saxa reluctantly follows, and they climb the staircase before arriving at a hospitably open door.<br>'We be here!' Chester calls into the living area.  
>'Come on in then, don't dilly dally! Sagan calls back, her voice cracks, hoarse from years of speeches against those who used to politically oppose her. 'Coffee is on, radio isn't, that damn Hutama speech is on again.'<br>Lying on the table is a report from a leading atheist's attempts at debunking Kavita Thakur, passing past it a tall wiry woman is standing by a sink. The side is cluttered with dirty dishes and other utensils. The woman is wearing a purple robe, her blonde hair is a mess and she's clearly not been anticipating visitors.  
>'I just put the coffee on, figured we could use some, especially that chap.' Sagan says pulling Chester into a forceful hug. Releasing she grins. 'Have you grown? I'm proud of you, you're finally doing what needs to be done.'<br>'Ha thanks, I'm proud of the whole world coming together almost.' Chester begins.  
>'Nah, that's not happening. At least the intelligent people are in charge for once though, politicians can't stop progress when they need it to survive.' Sagan starts saying, before changing to both a higher tone and speed. 'Now come on take a seat. Mind that chair though the legs kinda broken move the stuff off that other chair. Saxa right? Thought so. I met you once at one of the Inflection Point talks. Do you want sugar in this, it's a rare commodity these days. Chester would you seriously sit down?'<br>By the time they are all sat down round the table with mugs of coffee, Saxa has eased into the new location and is much warmer. He keeps looking round the room, the walls covered in political reports, headlines, transcripts and images of Sagan leading the pro-Inflection Point argument from the last few decades. For weeks Chester had been planning a large surprise for his old advocator, and he got the news he wanted from the universities Freeland department.  
>On one of the walls is a transcript, Sagan gestures towards it with a tender hand.<br>'That was my first speech on the Inflection Point to the government.' Sagan says to Saxa. 'I got debunked by Hutama before I could explain the evidence, only the ramifications.'  
>'Hutama is now leading the expedition.' Saxa says, looking more alive than he had since Chester found him. 'Not a bad shot in the dark to be honest.'<br>'Ha. I couldn't agree more, the squirt has his words in the right order and his sentences the right length. Can't ask much more of a politician, let alone a student. Kind of nice seeing someone accepting they're wrong and being dragged into what it is they are now trying to support from a distance.'  
>'Nah ah.' Chester barges in. 'I still think they need a fully-fledged scientist leading it.'<br>'Like you?' Sagan responds.  
>They all laugh, and Saxa relaxes into his chair, sipping their coffee.<br>Chester takes advantage of the pause and places her cup on the side. 'Miss Sagan, we have a problem.'  
>'Of course you do, nothing else would bring you all the way to Sydney.'<br>While Chester tells the story, starting from the lab, he keeps his attention on Saxa. At first he glowers, filling himself on bravado, but when the attempts to throw himself in the road come up he sinks and fixes his eyes to his cup.  
>'He won't tell me what's wrong, but I don't think he's intending on going to that presentation.' Chester concludes.<br>'Yeah it sounds like that.' Sagan has been watching Saxa well, and when he refuses to look up she leans forwards. At long last he raises his eyes.  
>'Okay, you don't want to kill yourself. You just want a bit of timeout in a hospital. It's probably not because you're afraid of speaking in front of crowds.' Sagan looks at Saxa, square in the face with narrow eyes. 'Alright, how many enemies do you have?'<br>His eyes open in shock. 'What? Nobody, none, zilch, naught, nada.' He goes on in protest for some time.  
>'Ok so you have no political enemies, I believe you.' She concludes. 'But somebody is blackmailing you aren't they. I know the signs, been there myself. You think it's safer if you hide from the public eye for a while.'<br>Saxa opens his mouth, but stops, pauses, and closes it but he had already starting shaking his head.  
>At this Sagan pounces 'Not just the presentations, you want to stay out of the Freeland expedition altogether!'<br>'No I don't want to do anything to hurt the Seeding.' Saxa protests.  
>'Fine, but you don't want to go beyond Earth.' She considers him for a second. 'But you've been signed up to go beyond Earth even if you don't get on the Freeland expedition, don't the African Union have a specialist spot for you? I saw their international reports.'<p>

Saxa stares at the floor.

'It's true.' Chester answers for him. 'All the university lecturers have been talking about it.'  
>'Now we're getting somewhere. You've got something waiting for you and you don't want to face it.'<br>Saxa looks up 'Yeah, yeah, correct.' His eyes fill with tears. 'That's it. It isn't that I don't want to go, it's that I don't want to do anything that will hurt the expedition.'  
>'We don't hold it against you, it takes guts to throw yourself under a car instead of throwing away a seat.'<br>'Throw away my seat?' Saxa snaps. 'Not a chance, I'd have let him tell his goddam secret to Hutama if he'd been asking me to give up my seat. No, he wants me to take something for him. He thinks that I can get it on board one of the ships, I don't believe it.'  
>Sagan snorts. 'So what has this guy got to keep you under his thumb?'<br>When there's a long pause Sagan realises that she's not going to find out by interrogation.  
>'I think I know.' She finally breaks. 'You're a goody two shoes, too good. You've been caught on the wrong side of the law as a child weren't you'.<br>Tears run down his face in silent admission.  
>Chester feels sick, if they lose Saxa now the university will never win its bid. Not because they'll lose the opening speaker, but because the entire bid will be branded as criminal. He can't even consider the possibility.<br>'Yeah, now you understand why I can't tell this guy to go breath some vacuum. If he goes public that I'm a…'  
>'Criminal.' Sagan finishes off. 'Better get used to it.'<br>'But I can't. Soon as the government finds out that's it, I can't do anything anymore.'  
>Chester is in shock, baffled by what he is hearing, could the government be that paranoid about civil unrest on the planet it's abandoning that it will throw away a prized colonist.<br>In an instant Saxa stands up. 'My wife! I've got to call her!' he sprawls into the hallway to use the comm. The other two remain seated and talking.  
>'Alright when's the setup for the presentation?' Sagan asks.<br>'It starts late, nineteen hundred hours.' Chester answers.  
>'Good, Saxa needs to get some sleep and to gather his things. The speech is in New Sydney right?'<br>'Yes. Ah there you are Saxa, call her ok?'  
>Saxa leans against the doorway. 'Yes, thanks. We need to get going.'<br>'I want you back here before nineteen hundred though. I know someone who can help. You can't keep this a secret forever but I think we can keep it that way, at least until Freeland leaves orbit.'  
>'Could you?' Saxa chokes. 'If that's possible.'<br>'No promises. Chester, ensure he comes.' Sagan cuts off.  
>'If you try hurting yourself both of us will reveal your secret. So get going. You need to get some sleep before that presentation. On that topic, so do I.'<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

In the soft post-sunset darkness the ARC, Polystralian Department, HQ, a tall building with much glass, shimmers with golden light from what moonlight breaks through the cloud. Two men, dressed in grey, stand guard on either side of the entrance. As Chief Clifton approaches they salute with nods of recognition and open the heavy wooden doors.  
>Inside Clifton receives a different kind of welcome. At a long curve of a desk sits a well-kept woman, with red-blonde hair, green eyes, and a professionally thin smile. Clifton has dealt with her enough times to wish she'd been sent back to America. When he walks up to the desk, she finally looks up from her computer.<br>'Good evening.' She glowers. 'How may I assist?'  
>'I hope so. I want to see Mr Jackson, but I don't have an appointment.'<br>'Without an appointment the Chief of Operations sees no visitors.'  
>'I'm here on official business.' Clifton says pulling out his wrist and scanning it on her identifier, on the computer a police badge flips up.<br>'Oh, well.' The receptionist blinks rapidly. 'Oh, I see. A police operative.'  
>'I happen to be Chief of Police here in New Sydney, including the Sydney lands.'<br>Another professional smile and, she picks up her phone, talking quietly in Spanish. 'If you'll have a seat, Sir.' She places the phone down and smiles brightly. 'The Chief of Operations says he will attempt to accommodate you.' Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly. 'Please take a seat by the wall.'  
>Clifton checks his watch, having sunk into a large blue sofa, and it reads 1500. He still has plenty of time to return in time to deal with any recent disasters and make it to the presentation on one pretence or another.<br>'Chief Clifton!' Jackson comes striding through a side door. 'You must forgive my inattention.'  
>Clifton lifts himself of the sofa and nods. Jackson wears the ARC Representative blue cloak, which hangs slightly open to reveal a grey collar. He's slightly short, and his expression suggests he's in a good mood. They shake hands, though his seem abnormally elongated.<br>'You have my humble apologies.' Clifton says. 'For daring to enter with engaging the proper arrangements.'  
>'No, no, the apology is mine for keeping you waiting. It is a most unexpected but never unwelcome surprise to see you. You honour this establishment with your support.'<br>'Still, this is very short notice. With a lack of manners.' Clifton protests.  
>'There is no possibility of any such lack on the part of such an infamous guest.' He says with a smirk. 'Will you please come to my office.'<br>As they leave the room, Clifton glances at the receptionist. She just gives him the same professional smile.

Jackson takes James to his roomy office, atop the tall building. Flat screen monitors line the walls with reels of exchange values and data. The iconic ARC logo drapes over the central window on a semi-transparent curtain.  
>'Please, do sit down, Chief James Clifton.' Jackson says. 'Allow me to offer you some refreshment.'<br>'Thank you.' Clifton says, choosing a fairly firm chair to sit in, watching Jackson open a wall panel. He can just make out a collection of decanters and glasses.  
>'You will forgive me for not calling an assistant.' Jackson begins. 'I realise that your time is precious.'<br>'Of course I forgive you, a drink is a drink whoever it is served by.'  
>'I think you might enjoy this drink. It is a blend of wine made back in America and one of your marine flavourers.' Jackson says pulling out a bottle of purple liquid.<br>'The colour is exceptionally vivid.'  
>Jackson nods his head and, brings over two glasses filled with the shimmering lavender liquid. Clifton takes one, waits for Jackson to sit down opposite, then tries a cautious sip. ARC are renowned for their potent alcoholic wines, unlike the comparably alcoholic Polystralian beer. This one sits lightly in the mouth however.<br>'It's very sweet and fine.' Clifton remarks. 'I'm most grateful for the chance to sample it.'  
>'I am so pleased.' Jackson leans back with a rustle of artificial robes. 'Our techs have the most interesting ideas.'<br>To the Americans everything happens in a rush, and the chat was cut short.  
>'You will forgive my abruptness.' He announces. 'But I'm sure we both have work on our hands of urgency. At least I do. You've received your invitation to our facilities forthcoming Seeding reception?'<br>'I have, yes. You must be working overtime, getting ready for an event like that.'  
>'It's only a week away.' His face turns stern. 'And the protocol is going to be an amazingly delicate tangle. Ambassadors and functionaries from all nations partaking in the Seeding will be there. My own company's specialists will be there. You can no doubt imagine the possibilities for gaffes and faux pas.'<br>'I can. This is a most unfortunate time for a disturbance of the sort that brings me here.' Clifton comments.  
>'Ah yes.' Jackson's face twitches. 'Broker Karl.'<br>'Yes the stock man.'  
>'Perhaps his title is too grand for his duties. More of a clerk, an expert in data selection, entry and manipulation. Nothing more though.'<br>'Yet his disappearance troubles you.' Clifton implies.  
>'The disappearance of anyone on staff here troubles me.' His face twitches more. 'We are all, as it were, the children of our CEO, since she has deigned to allow us to rise and grow in this company so that we may continue her work.'<br>'Of course.' Clifton says, questioning his own sincerity.  
>'I have asked Miss Pregunta, his superior to join us. I am sure she can answer your questions better than I.'<br>'You have my thanks. She's the logical choice, all right.'  
>Clifton allows himself to smile at the name, since it means 'question' in Spanish. Apparently she has a sense of humour about her name and her job.<br>Jackson rises at the sound of a low whistle from the door, the doorbells that the ARC used were a strange concept and seemed like a waste of energy resources. 'Here she is now.' He says trotting over to the door. 'Allow me to introduce Ellie Pregunta, our Director of Data Analysis.'  
>Clifton stands and covers his surprise with a bow. The woman who enters is dressed lightly, in a short royal blue robe.<br>'I am glad that you yourself would come to help us, Chief Clifton.' She says.  
>'You're most welcome, though the positive emotions are mine.' He says.<br>Sitting down, Ellie, arranges her robes around her, James notices she's wearing a tight white jumpsuit under them. She's an extremely attractive woman, with soft brown eyes, a sensuous mouth and long black hair fashioned into a singular braid that forms a small crown structure around her head. Clifton isn't entirely distracted by her beauty though, and notices Jackson has stopped twitching.  
>'Now then.' James begins. 'I understand that you're the one who filed the missing person report.'<br>She nods. 'I am, yes. I can't think of much to add to it now.'  
>'That's ok, I have a few questions. For one, did Karl have any enemies here in the ARC?'<br>'No, but he had no friends either. He was a competent person but not particularly pleasant.' She pauses, glancing at Jackson. 'Not unpleasant either. Just dry I suppose. It's an occupational hazard in our field of expertise.'  
>As the conversation continues, Ellie glances up at Jackson often, an automatic flick of the eyes his way every time she begins to answer a question. Jackson says nothing, just nods his head now and then, but by the time Clifton has finished up the man's face has resumed twitching. According to Ellie's account, Karl is a boring data chomper who leads an uneventful and dull life. As he exits the building though Clifton concludes he doesn't believe a single word of it.<p>

At 1800 Chester and Saxa return to Sagan's apartment. This time she greets them wearing a pair of green trousers and a jacket that mirrors that of the Brasilian Seeding expeditions leader.  
>'Good!' Sagan says by way of greeting. 'Come on in and sit down. We get to use the living room this time.'<br>'Amazing.' Chester says, grinning. 'Must be something important going on.'  
>Sagan gives a sinister glare and heads into the kitchen to tend to her protein shaker. Her living room walls, from what Chester can see from underneath the many articles, are a yellow to match the furniture. Chester and Saxa sit down as the front door buzzes again.<br>'I'll get it.' Sagan says emerging from the kitchen. 'Probably be just who we want.'  
>As it turns out the people at the door were Verity, Sagan's distant relative, and her roommate Timothy. At the sight of them Saxa repeats his convincing imitation of a statue, though he does murmur something in response to the round of greetings. Every person in Polystralia knows the face of Verity, with its big eyes and triangular smile. It was all over the broadcasts when she got mixed up in a Polystralian incident in the Slavic Federation some eight months prior, almost dragging the ARC's army into Sydney. As for Tim, he had a certain reputation himself, the first tech thrown out of the Freeland expedition when he was branded a criminal, and, it turns out, Saxa knows him.<br>'Hey, Saxa!' Tim says. 'Give them what for tonight!'  
>'Hey, Tim! I'm planning on it.' Saxa finally moves, getting up to shake Tim's hand. 'Good to see you again.'<br>'Again?' Sagan says pulling a small cart, with an assortment of coffee mugs and protein containers, behind her.  
>'Met him when they did the first G-Force training for the techs on the Freeland expedition.' Tim helps himself to a mug. 'Just cause I'm now a lousy criminal doesn't mean I didn't miss out on the first bits of the fun.'<br>'You didn't miss any of the fun, even if you aren't in the expedition.' Saxa seems to be about t osay more, but all at once his eyes get wide and he sits down, fast. No doubt he's just remembered why Freeland reject Tim.  
>Sagan passes out protein shakes to those without a coffee, then waves her hand at the various chairs. 'Get comfortable, will you at least? I didn't ask you over here for old home week. Verity, like I told you on the comm, we got a serious problem.'<br>Verity takes a seat in a ratty armchair and Tim sits down nearby, leaning back into the seat. Sagan sails the tray into the kitchen and winces at the crash it makes, then takes to a wooden chair, cradling her coffee mug in both hands.  
>'Saxa here has got a <em>little <em>secret.' Sagan begins. 'Also, he has got a blackmailer on him.'  
>'Gamblers.' Verity says. The word is not a question.<br>'Aha, that's what I thought but you be wrong. Tell her, Saxy.'  
>Saxa hesitates, when Chester's elbow hits him squarely on the shoulder, he starts talking.<br>'Well uh you see-' Saxa pauses to take a sip of coffee. 'It was couple of nights ago, this man came up to me while I was waiting for a cab home. Oh wait, no, I forgot to mention the letters. For a couple of weeks I've been getting these letters. They kept saying someone knew my secret, that I'd be hearing from them. So when he came up to me, the one from a couple of nights ago, I figured it was the same guy, and it was.' After another, large, gulp of coffee, he resumes. 'He shoved himself in a cab with me and he told me he knew what I was hiding, so I should do him a favour.'  
>'Wait a minute.' Verity breaks in. 'This guy, what did he look like?'<br>'Kind of ordinary. Skinny, as dark as me, dreadlocks. He was wearing a nice suit, grey, looked rich.'  
>'Ah. Not a lot to go on.'<br>'No.' Saxa sounds apologetic. 'I've never seen him in full light. But he wants me to take something beyond Earth for him. In my luggage or the ship mainframe or something. I don't care what he says, I can see myself getting caught. What would that do to the expedition?' He glances at Chester.  
>'Get everyone mad as hell, or depressed, or fired, or all of the above.' Chester says, void of emotion.<br>'Yeah so I figured it would be better if I got put on the DL.'  
>'The what?' Verity asks.<br>'Disabled List. Did you learn anything at school?' Sagan puts in.  
>Verity grins, then she considers Saxa, over the rim of her mug. He's sitting slumped forward, staring miserably at the flowered carpet. 'Come on.' She says. 'What's he holding over you?'<br>'Uh well.' Saxa looks up, then away. 'I'm a – criminal.'  
>Walker flinches, turning his head as fast as if someone had slapped him. 'Shit.' He whispers so softly that Chester can barely hear him. 'Oh shit. Would be that of all things, huh?'<br>'Yeah.' Saxa says. 'And I don't see you on that expedition like you deserve.'  
>'Now wait a minute.' Verity says. 'Freeland don't want any criminals. They removed Tim because they knew he was a criminal from his presentation. But it isn't like there's a law against it. It's just one of those understood things, right?'<br>'Well, yeah.' Sagan breaks in. 'But it's one hell of a strong understanding, and most of that is on the public relations front.'  
>'But look, Saxa is already on the official list. He's got his seat. What makes us all so sure that they'll kick him out? Blackmail, that's serious trouble. You should go to the police.'<br>'One thing you don't know.' Tim twists around to look up at her. 'When you sign, there's this contract, you know? In it there is a clause. You swear or something –'  
>'Attest.' Saxa correct.<br>'Right. You attest that you've never violated a law. So if you have…'  
>'You void your contract.' Verity shakes her head sadly. 'That takes care of the easy way out.' She pauses. 'Well, look, what's this thing he wants you to smuggle?'<br>'That's the damnedest thing about this whole mess. I told him I wasn't going to smuggle anyone on board no matter what he had on me and he said no, it's not a person. It's some data chip thing, an Iso Chip he called it. There's something in orbit that wants the data, but all the transmissions from Arrays to satellites are monitored so they can't get it up there without it being detected, so if I smuggle it onto one of the ships they can transmit it from orbit to orbit without detection or tracing.'  
>'You didn't believe him though. Did you?' Verity says, after a reassuring confirmation from Saxa she continues. 'Good. For starters, it's got to be illegal data. You get caught with that and your seat will be the last thing you will have time to worry about.'<br>Saxa shuts his eyes and flops back so hard that the sofa lifts off its front feet, almost spilling Chester's drink.  
>'Something's bothering me about this story.' Verity announces standing up. 'If you botch up the training or get revealed a criminal Freeland won't accept you, then you won't be going on any ship to smuggle anything on to. This persons gambling on your success.'<br>'Not quite.' Sagan says, coming in with more drinks from the kitchen, she must have snuck out while Verity was talking.  
>'PAU, they've got me in a reserved specialist slot because they have a lack of techs. If I get on, Freeland I mean, they have some Franco-Iberian signed up as backup.'<br>'Oh yeah.' Tim puts in. 'The Seedings are the most transparent projects in human history, anything international is publicly published.'  
>'I bet this guy saw it.' Verity says. 'Hmmm, well you're a criminal whether we like it or not. Did he give any hints as to who he is? Anything at all?'<br>'Well.' Saxa finishes his new coffee in a single gulp. 'When he got out he answered the phone, and he mentioned something. I only heard one word, though. Arc.'  
>Verity looks up at the ceiling, as if invoking a mental connection with the Earth. 'That's just great, Americans, exactly who we need in the middle of this.'<br>'Told you it was a serious problem, so what ya gonna do Vez?' Sagan says.  
>'You expect me to know the answer to that question?' Verity turns to face Sagan directly.<br>'I can hope can't I?'  
>'Ok, ok, the only thing I can do is maybe call Chief Clifton, he owes me a favour. A big one too. Maybe he can hush up Saxa's secret. Maybe promise the blackmailer a short sentence if he keeps his mouth shut.'<br>'I can't go to the police.' Saxa sounds as if he's strangling. 'Not now, with the expedition election presentation.' He breaks off and stares with begging eyes.  
>Verity shrugs, turning her hands palm up. Chester sit there silently screaming of frustration, it was quite easy to conclude that Verity has no intention of getting involved with Saxa. He leans over, sets his mug on the tray and stands, making a logical decision.<br>'Come on.' He says. 'We need to get to the presentation.'  
>'Yeah guess so.' Saxa weakly follows. 'Thanks, for trying.'<br>Chester strides out without further communication. Outside the sun is beginning to set, and the car glows in the red ambience. In the dull lighting there expressionless faces looked empty.  
>'I don't know what to do next.' Chester announces, with a deep breath.<br>'I appreciate that you've tried.'  
>'You're welcome, now let's go blow the Artists out of the election process.'<p>

'Miss Agent Verity!' Sagan says, political status asserted. 'I can't believe that you're gonna sit there and do nothing for this lad.'  
>'Look, I feel sorry for him, yeah. He doesn't deserve to have his life ruined by some low-life smuggler. I swore up and down that after my last operation I was never getting involved in politics ever again.'<br>'Huh. I wonder what Hutama would say to that.'  
>'You wouldn't dare!'<br>'I would.'  
>Verity in a delay of shock pauses before standing up, by the time she does however Sagan is already reaching for a phone.'<br>'Don't!' She snaps. 'I'll think about it for a while.'  
>Sagan backs down, turning to Verity and placing her hands in her pockets.<br>Verity walks over to her. 'Honestly, though, I don't think there's anything I can do.'  
>Raising a hand, Sagan responds with a cocky accent. 'There's plenty of things you can do, that's why you're one of the best. You just haven't thought of them yet.'<br>'All of them will mean trouble.' Behind them Tim is standing up.  
>'Miss Sagan, how about some protein shakes?'<br>She goes to scold, but smiles instead. 'Good idea, I'll wash these old mugs up too.'  
>Verity senses Tim walking up behind her, and Sagan walks into the kitchen making unnecessary noise. She takes a deep breath, preparing for a debate, ever since she left political espionage Tim has been a tool in making sure she never went too far in her private operations, while providing the tech skill to support her.<br>'No.' His voice is perfectly calm. 'No arguments, no debates. You know you can do this. Especially right before the Seeding. It'd be kinder to him to put him in a coma.'  
>'What does it matter to you so much? It isn't just the expedition!'<br>'No it's about Saxa, I can't stand it. I'm not gonna stand by watching what's going to happen to him, a fellow tech. Not after the same happened to me, just less worse.'  
>'Yeah? How will you feel if we all get in deep trouble with the law?'<br>'Like in the Slavic Federation? You can pull it off, we all know you can.'  
>With a feeling close to shock she realises that's how everyone here felt about her, Saxa and Chester came to the only contact they had to get her. Tim isn't just trying to flatter her, but he's being sincere.<br>'Besides.' He continues. 'I know you now. If you don't do anything and this guy gets arrested and kicked out of Freeland you won't drop it. You'll be sorry, sleepless and you'll see that launch and regret this moment.'For a long moment she looks into the abyss that is Earth. At times she realises how human she is, and it worries her.  
>'Alright!' She lets out, breaking like a twig. 'I'll be damned if I know why I am doing this, but I won't say anything to Clifton. We'll figure out a way to make sure no one ruins your pet tech's future. But now you owe me one.'<br>'You bet! Never going to forget this.' Tim suddenly frowns. 'But how are we gonna let Saxa know?'  
>'I'll tell him.' Smiling in raw triumph, Sagan stands in the doorway with a ray of light flashing from behind her like a glorified piece of propaganda. 'I got a season ticket to see all Freeland presentations.' She holds up a small wrist scanner and scans her wrist, adding the pass to her code. 'Courtesy of one Chester Siriam.'<br>'Okay.' Verity says. 'And on my tombstone, you guys can write: "Here lies the biggest sucker on Earth".'

With the conditioning on, the Dodson Memorial Conference Centre becomes the coolest building in Australia. The caretaker stands near the entrance and stares a control panel in the wall. Nova hovers nervously nearby.  
>'No want too much cold.' Nova says.<br>'I know, I know. I'm done.'  
>With a gnarled dark finger the caretaker taps the screen once, the fans stop spinning and the air jets retreat into their sheaths in the wall.<br>'There you go, don't let your damn vandals make a mess of my seats tonight.'  
>The caretaker climbs into a small buggy and putts off up a smooth ramp through a double door. Nova, the elderly event manager, has given his heart to the seeding, despite being an unparticipating European. As he makes a final, unnecessary check on the checklist, his wrinkled grey top turns almost violet by the shadowy lights, he thinks back to the first presentation he can remember. His mind tends to blur past and present, he knows so many statistics for so many colonists and sponsors.<br>So when he sees a slender man with dreadlocks hanging around the panels entrance door, for a brief moment he thinks it's Dr. Cassy. Realising that he died in a test flight accident for one of the early international seeding tests he focuses on the man, but he has never seen this guy before in his life.  
>'Sorry mister. No can go back there, private area. Anyway, nada worth seeing.'<br>The stranger smiles, slipping one hand into a pocket of his crisp grey business shorts. This dude smiles like a knife flashing.  
>He speaks in an unreadable tone. 'No problem, just thought you know, maybe get a look at all transcipts, maybe find something for a souvenir or what not. Gonna be an eventful colonist drive tonight, huh?'<br>'You bet. A lot riding on it.'  
>'Ah, the scientists will get on.' The stranger says. 'The artists? Shee-it! Can't write a speech the same way they make art.'<br>'Aint no sure thing in politics, Herr.'  
>'That's true, that's true. Well I guess you got work to do. Nice talking to you, hey could you, maybe, give your opener a letter for me? Just wishing him luck and all. He's an old student of mine.'<br>'Well, I no supposed to, but sure. No can do any harm.'  
>The man hands him a sealed envelope with 'To Saxa' written on the flap. Nova tucks it into the front chest pocket of his coat. From overhead, far up in the back row, a voice squawks: the techs testing the speaker system.<br>'I better get going.' The stranger says. 'But thanks for giving Silent Saxa that envelope.'  
>After he escorts the man out, Nova finds himself pondering the conversation. Something seemed off. For a long while he finds himself trying to figure out what it was, to much irritation. Then in the creaks of the empty room his memory is jogged. The radio talkshows came up with that nickname, Silent Saxa, for Saxa. Nova ignores Saxa training stats rolling through his mind like a display on a computer, and considers a critical question. Saxa hates that nickname, and it's pretty recent, so why would an old teacher of his use it?<p>

Normally administrative work keeps Clifton tied to his desk for much of each shift, but when a call came in that a dead American male had been knifed out in the district where Karl lived he grabbed his hat and stun gun and made a break for the garage. Now, however, he regrets leaving the cool of his conditioned office, because the murder was routine. Some American families live in New Sydney and Sydney, with no ties to the ARC. In a neighbourhood not too far from the main port, one of their young men got himself involved with a married women, an affair the husband has just ended with a carving knife right outside the front of their house. Witnesses abound, drawn by the screams. Clifton stands to one side, his head pounds in rhythm with the intermittent light breaking through the clouds.  
>'You feeling alright, Chief?' Anderson asks.<br>'Why on Earth are you asking me that?'  
>'Sorry.'<br>Clifton stalks away. Out in the street an ambulance stands waiting on vulture detail to finish its work.  
>'You got anything for a headache?' He asks the short nurse.<br>'Most of my patients don't need medicine.' The nurse starts to laugh, finding her own joke funny, but a glance from the Chief shuts her down. She rummages in a locker before unveiling a couple of yellow tablets, followed by no more one liners. 'Would you like some water to wash it down?'  
>'Yeah, please.'<br>The nurse fills a tiny cup from the cooler strapped to the side of the can. Clifton gulps the pills down. He's felt the wine ever since he left the ARC building. He can't help but wonder if Jackson chose that particular wine to blunt his mind, to dull his senses to the details like the twitch and sidelong glances at each other.  
>What a mess, Clifton thinks, and a hell of a lot more important than the ARC are letting on. He finds himself thinking of Ellie, something new in his experience, a scientist that works in finances.<br>'Everything's under control here, Chief.' Anderson comes strolling over. 'This doesn't look like any political murder to me.'  
>'Me either, kid.'<br>'How's the headache?'  
>A sudden traitorous thought comes to mind. The pills are working but…<br>'It's making me loco.' Clifton groans. 'A real bad one alright. Look, if you really need me, call my mobile. I'm gonna head home and lie down.'  
>'It's the only thing that works sometimes, yeah.'<br>As he drives off Clifton heads west, the direction of his home, but as soon as he's out of sight he turns and heads towards the Dodson Memorial building. He has his pass for the presentation. After all, whoever gets elected, trouble will erupt and he can assuage his guilt by thinking that if it gets bad he can be there to take command.

As many people as the regulations allow will have crammed themselves into the galleries, and a few more would have wangled their way into the dead space. Everyone's now overheating, everyone's eating too much and everyone is washing it down with protein. Verity is profoundly glad that they're not sitting in their usual seats. Their box seats, with personal conditioning, came her way as a perk from one of her customers. For a fraction of an energy they now revel in the luxury of a self-contained paradise.  
>'This is swell.' Tim says. 'I can even stretch my legs out.'<br>He gives her a boyish grin, but the look in his eyes bothers her: distant, somehow hard.  
>'Something wrong?' She asks.<br>'No.' He jerks his head away. 'Could not be happier.'  
>'Is it because you want to be one down there?'<br>'Same old crap. You don't need to hear it again.'  
>A buzz from the speakers saves Verity from having to respond. The crowd claps at the first speaker of the day. The artists have been putting up a good case. Now the problem becomes a bit more personal, the scientists are up next. Saxa stands at the microphone while his colleagues take a seat at the panel, including Chester.<br>'If he's gonna win this he better have a solid case.' Walker remarks. 'He better have a whole script ready.'  
>'Maybe he's gonna start off script to ease the mood, then switch.'<br>'Pull an anti-politician? Could be.'  
>Saxa proves him right. When he starts he speaks without any preparation and then, after a quick glance at Chester, he switches to a set of cards from his pocket.<br>'Yeah.' Tim says. 'Chester wanted him to oppose the political stereotype. They can't afford the association.'  
>Saxa suddently freezes, the microphone held in one hand. Then when he resumes talking he drops the pretence and catches every word, throwing them with sincerity and accuracy at each person. He's laid the perfect foundation for a strong case. The other bidders start to fire questions, but Saxa has already made his point and takes a seat.<br>'Wait a minute.' Verity says. 'You wrote a couple of those cards didn't you?'  
>'No.' Walker gives a vacant smile. 'What makes you think that?'<br>'Jeez. I thought you weren't supposed to interfere with the Freeland expedition.'  
>'Who was interfering? I only gave him a nudge'<br>He leans forward, nearly bent double in his seat, and concentrates on the panel's response to the questions. Verity gives up trying to talk to Tim.

Saxa begins to head towards the door, everyone was packing up to leave now the presentations were over. He'll never hear if he calls him so Chester jumps down from his perch by a window and dodges the crowd of people leaving.  
>'Hey, Saxa, hold up!'<br>At the sound of his voice he turns around and attempts to smile, but he keeps walking.  
>'Wait damn it!' Chester darts after him, running out of steam.<br>He stops, hesitates, then places his bag on the ground as he catches up.  
>'Look.' Chester says. 'Just cause the winner of the elections hasn't been announced yet doesn't mean we can't celebrate.'<br>'Does it?' His voice sounds exhausted. 'Bet the committee wouldn't think so.'  
>'Look they don't know yet.' He says. 'With a little luck, and Verity, maybe they never will.'<br>'Yeah?' Saxa glances around and drops his voice for added precaution. 'I saw the dude I told you about, the one who's been doing the-' He cuts out, unable to say 'blackmailing'.  
>'Here at the presentation?'<br>'Yeah, I saw him in the stands right down the front. Before the talks he gave Nova a letter. A letter for me, poor old Nova forgot about it until our panel finished.  
>'Damn good thing he did forget!'<br>'You're right about that, the guys gonna call me tomorrow before the next planning meeting. I'd better be there he says.'  
>'Saxa, Chester!' A voice calls out. 'What on Earth you two doing out here?' Out in the corridor a couple of the scientist panellists step out. 'Get back in here! Do you want me to get all the talking, Saxa? They want to speak to the infamous scientist!'<br>Other techs came out, cake in hand to drag him back into the celebration room. Chester picks up Saxa's stuff and follows. Team work, he concludes, nothing like it.


	3. Chapter 3

Such an effective presentation demands that extended supporters celebrate as well as the panellists. Verity and Tim came dragging home in the early hours of the morning and went right to bed, but Verity wakes up suddenly, and too soon. She has been dreaming about Saxa's troubles, she realises. Getting out of bed she dresses, pulling on a pair of old shorts and a shirt. Yawning, and stretching, she wanders into the living room. She sits at the computer desk, pulls up the screen, and beings a direct link to an associate of hers.  
>'Got a new problem for you.' Verity says.<br>'Of what nature is this problem?' The male voice responds.  
>While she summarises the situation, the fan whirls away, data transfers across the screen and data chucks are encrypted. Some of it she recognises as annotations of her summary, but other encrypted symbols parade across the screen too. Towards the end of the transfer his voice plays again.<br>'Why does Saxa wish to disguise his nature? Nobody should be shamed for a crime they've committed before they've reformed.'  
>'If Saxa don't conceal his nature, he's going to lose his dream position.'<br>'Ah so the element lies in society, which castigates some members for possessing certain pasts.'  
>'Well, Waluyo, the main thing is I promised Sagan I'd help.'<br>'Note made, how can I assist then?' Waluyo responds.  
>'First thing we got to track down this blackmailer. I got a description; it's not a very good one. See if you can turn up a match in the criminal files.'<br>'Shall I tap all my sources?'  
>'Yeah, Police, ARC, satellite data storage, you name it. Just watch out for footprints.'<br>'Yes Vez. I am aware that every nation and investigatory organisation on the planet suspects my activities. I have developed several programs to breach their security systems though.' He sounds positively smug. 'This will provide me an excellent occasion to test my new algorithm.'  
>'Swell, thanks man, I appreciate it. I owe you a lot, we can call this even on the Slavic event.'<br>While Waluyo works, Verity flicks through the channels on her computer and sets it to the news feeds. As she suspected, Polystralia Now is running and endless loop of the Freeland presentations and their critical responses. In a few minutes Saxa shows up, and she saves the program. The presenter radiates a sincere friendliness that makes Verity instantly distrust her. Apparently Saxa feels the same. He answers t predictable questions with as few words as possible, while still being polite. He shows little emotion, odd for someone who's winning a lot of public favour, suitable to that of a professional whose colonists status is still up for debate.  
>Clearing his throat Waluyo spoke from the computer again. 'Sorry Vez, I can't supply the data you want.'<br>'No matches, huh?'  
>'Quite the opposite, too many. At least seventy three match your description, with hundreds fitting the extended criteria. It is possible the blackmailer has never been arrested, in which case he isn't even among this list.'<br>'Hmm, didn't think of that. Cross-correlate that data with the ARC database.'  
>'Already took the liberty, pardon the pun, you'll find three of our suspects have ties.'<br>'Mark those as the highest probability.' She thinks for a minute. 'Dig for any links, in the meantime I'll get into the police databanks and see if the ARC have reported any trouble in the last month.'  
>While the data downloads, she leans back in her chair and considers what to do next. She wants to send the images of the possibles to Saxa, but a data transfer to his unprotected computer would be risky, especially if the ARC are involved. They are notorious for data mole tactics.<br>'Waluyo.' She says. 'I've got an incident. The ARC HQ for the Polystralian Department has filed a missing person's report on one of their recruits. The chap is called Karl, no recorded surname. The reports are quite brief.'  
>'Quite. You'd think Clifton would be treating this case as a red alert. Bring all the files up, and then transfer them to me too.' He responds, scanning the data he<br>receives his voice sounds rather excited. 'I know what you're thinking, Clifton is recording everything he knows.'  
>'Of course he isn't. He knows I have my ways into his files.'<br>'That's one reason. Well I'll sweep for footprints, might be worth you giving him a call.'  
>'Let's pretend I'm doing him a favour.'<p>

Clifton is sitting at his desk reading over the proposed crowd control plan for the final public Freeland launches that will be happening in the next few months. Family, friends and the whole word, will want to see their ambassadors off Earth. His train of thought it cut off by his phone ringing, and when he picks up Verity's voice bubbles across.  
>'Well, I'm in shock!' Clifton says. 'You calling the police, I mean.'<br>'I got a tip for you, Chief. No small talk I'm afraid.' Verity gleefully adds. 'Could be important, it's come my way that some ARC representative has gone missing.'  
>'Where did you hear this?' Clifton asks, sighing, Verity had many sources but it was her contacts in the espionage industry that worried him.<br>'Around.' She smiles briefly. 'You know I don't rat out my sources, bad for business.'  
>'Well, for you maybe, sadly we already know about it. Could have been important.'<br>'Just could have?' Verity fishes.  
>Clifton sighs again, of irritation. He can recognise someone fishing for data a mile off, sadly he can't let Verity fish in vain. She has a habit of being useful, and her contacts would help no matter how indirectly.<br>'It is important, yeah.' Clifton says. 'You don't need me to tell you that. I don't suppose you have any data?'  
>'I don't.' She pauses. 'I could maybe find out if I had a little more data.'<br>'I could maybe do the same, if I had a little more data. I'll be honest, this guys done a good job of going missing, I'm thinking he could be dead.'  
>'Damn.' This time her pause is due to her visible distress. 'Let's hope not! The ARC could get really touchy if he is.'<br>'That's what worries me, hey, look if you turn up anything we can use let me know. I'll keep you in the loop if you think you can help.'  
>'I'll keep that in mind, Chief, thanks!'<br>As soon as she hangs up he lets a couple of clichés loose, then turns to his computer.  
>'Heard it around, huh, she's been hacking again.'<br>He punches a number into his phone to call a tech.  
>'I want a complete diagnostic on all police computer security systems, pronto. I want to know if a single byte can be accessed externally.' He barks.<br>'Working, Chief. It will take some time to complete the tests.'  
>'Then get started! Listen, I want an accurate report on this!'<br>'Sir, I have to follow your commands as accurately as to my skill levels allow, to any superior officially.'  
>'I know that, live up to it! I know damn well what you techs think about Verity.'<br>'I do not understand the comment, Chief.' Says the tech completely baffled.  
>'You don't need to. Just run the damn program.'<br>Clifton drums his fingers on the desk. He's heard the chats about Verity downstairs. The legendary agent that prevented an all-out war. Although the police are supposed to actively disapprove of her there are several that idolise her, and give her favours when they can. So far no one in the tech team wants to admit it, but the superiors are always doubtful.  
>'Of course.' Hanging up on the first tech he calls a second. 'Is it possible that a hacker could get into the Polystralian Mainframe instead of ours?'<br>'That is a possibility, sir. Any files on ours get copied over within a day.'  
>'Yeah I know, thanks for confirming.' He switches back to the first. 'How long before you finish?'<br>His voice crackles back. 'About seventeen minutes, thirty seconds and six nanoseconds.'  
>'Fine, I'll stop distracting you.'<br>'That would help, Chief.'  
>While he waits Clifton wades through the clutter on his desk to find a blue sharp paper envelope. It contains his invitation to The Seeding Reception at the ARC building. He'd been planning on skipping it, but Verity has forced him to play every card in his hand. Someone knows something about Karl, more than they've told the police and Ellie.<br>Of course, if he's going to a formal affair he will require a date. He hangs up on the tech and dials a number, his fingers a blur at the familiar motion. The image of a handsome woman appears. She's wearing medical scrubs and scowling. Clifton grins at her and talks fast before she can complain about him interrupting her work at the clinic.

For the third time in a row Chester manages to park directly in front of Sagan's house. As she gets out of the car in the warm sunlight the sky clears for the first time in days. Walking up the steps to the house she buzzes, and a sense of familiarity occurs to him.  
>On the way up the stairs Chester ponders how to spring his surprise, he's never going to make a fortune with his succinct words but he wants to make a clever remark at least. Sagan is in the kitchen again, making a new type of protein shake designed from a new algae crop.<br>'How was your seat?' Chester asks, looking at the new transcript on the wall.  
>'Best I ever had, don't get to see speeches when you're the one making them. I got a few comments on how you guys came across though.'<br>'I bet, you're a politician, we're scientists.'  
>Sagan turns and picks up a paper notepad, rare these days. 'I got this from Verity. She wants Saxa to drop by her lab. Got some images for him to look at.'<br>'Images?'  
>'She didn't say what of, security reasons probably. But I can bet it's the blackmailer.'<br>'I can call him now, we can do this right away.'  
>Chester strolls over to the phone and begins to input Saxa's home number.<br>'Hello?' Saxa's voice responds. 'Who this be?'  
>'It's Chester, drop the act.'<br>'Thank God. I – uh – what's up?'  
>'I could be asking you the same thing!' Chester says, worried. 'You feeling ok?'<br>'No. Not really.' His voice trembles slightly. 'You know why.'  
>'Yeah, Verity got an idea.'<br>Chester gets cut off by a rapid and incoherent sentence, then Saxa collects himself and organises his thoughts. 'No. I don't want her to. I mean, she shouldn't be risking herself for me.'  
>'What? Maybe I lack common sense but I'm not following.'<br>'That deal we discussed?' His voice asserts itself and stops wavering. 'It's off. I don't have the money to, well, buy that car. I'm sorry to start a deal and back out but I can't buy it.'  
>Chester finally understands.<br>'Say, Saxa, you alone?'  
>'Only my wife, but this is our house computer.'<br>Without any security of course. Nobody buys extra security systems that have to be registered with the police. Chester glances at Sagan, who is shaking her head in disbelief.  
>'Tell Verity I'm sorry.' With that Sagan hangs up. Chester tries to dial the number but he never answers.<br>'I guess he's taking it with him. We gonna find out when we see the training.' Chester says.  
>'Yeah, you guys have fun with that.'<br>'I'm sure we will, oh got a surprise for you.'  
>Sagan is staring at her, head cocked to one side, half smiling as if she's been caught by some strand of hope on her fall into despair.<br>'I had a talk with the training leader.' Chester goes on. 'Since we made it into the final elections we get to go up to the ship for orientation. Now when one of the colonists was forced to drop out a while ago due to blood problems as space opened up. I said that there was an old politician who got Freeland started, a scientist, that could fill the space. None other than Miss Sagan.'  
>'Me? Go with Freeland, beyond Earth?'<br>'Just that. Like the idea?'  
>'Like it?' Sagan gulps for breath, then wipes her eyes on the nearest piece of fabric.<br>'We're going to orbit, see Freeland for the first time.'  
>Sagan opens her mouth, then shuts it again.<br>'Think you can be ready? The shuttle launches at eight-twenty in four days.'  
>'We going to need you along.' Chester goes on. 'The Pan-Asian Cooperative, they'll be tough competitors.'<br>'I've never even left Australia before. I was going to once with this man, well that's not important now. Been years since I saw him, hear his damn voice all the time. Wait till I tell Verity!' All at once she grimaces and her arms drop. 'Hell I got a lot of things to tell her. What's the plan with Saxa?'  
>'I don't know yet, but at least we got four days to think of something.' Chester says, trying to convince himself it was enough time.<br>'Lucky us.'

'He did what?' Verity is staring at her computer, phone in hand. 'What do you mean he doesn't want me to do anything?' She says in shock.  
>'Just that.' The phone fuzzes like she's shaking her head. 'He sounded like he was about to puke or something. Trembling with fear his voice was.'<br>'Maybe our smuggler upped the ante.'  
>'I'm sorry. You put yourself out for this dude.'<br>'Don't worry about it.' Verity pauses for a smile. 'I didn't really want to get involved anyway. He just gave me a way out.'  
>'And left me and Chester to sink deeper.'<br>'Well, yeah. That does worry me. It's amazing that you're getting to go on the Freeland expedition. I hope the little bastard doesn't spoil it through that data chip.'  
>'Me too. Me too. Well I guess we will find out.'<br>Verity clicks her computer twice, opening a video chat with Waluyo.  
>'I have been informed that our search for the blackmailer is over.'<br>'Well I am glad you're ok with that.'  
>Later, when Tim comes in, Verity tells him too, how glad she is that Saxa opted against her getting involved. She repeats it to herself several times that night, whenever she finds her mind drifting back to the smuggler and his blackmail. With the presentations over, except for the announcement and training not even Freeland can be a distraction. Nor does Tim, he's just on the computer scrolling through announcements.<br>'Well, hell.' Verity says at last. 'Nothing I could have done anyway.'  
>'What?' Tim asks.<br>'Saxa.'  
>'You still thinking about that? Been over a day.'<br>'No.'  
>'Then why are you bringing it up?'<br>'Yeah. You're right. It keeps nagging me. I don't want to turn on the news and see that Saxa has got himself killed or Freeland's blown up.'  
>'You think that could happen?'<br>'I don't know. I keep thinking that something's come down that's a whole lote more dangerous than smuggling. Wish I could get him to talk to me, he's hiding something.'  
>'Maybe I can help.' Tim sits up straight. 'Sagan is on the Freeland orientation training right? Maybe if they speak to the team they could let me in, help with the less trained members. I don't mean to get into the expedition but just to help for that bit. They'll need all the trained people they can get.'<br>'Sometimes you're useful, you know that?' Verity grins. 'I'll hack the required documents in to make it a bit easier for you to persuade them.'

A respectable woman is sitting on a park bench, just out of the sun in the shade. She is waiting for her partner to keep their appointment, in a more fashionable district of Sydney. For some while she has been sitting on a bench near the public transport station, while the ominous glow of the unobstructed sun lights up the area.  
>Although she doesn't approve of his elaborate schemes, she does approve of her partners dress sense. When he finally appears, strolling down a path with a briefcase tucked under his left arm, he's wearing an expensive vintage style business suit. It's composed of grey trousers, perfectly pressed, with a white shirt and grey waistcoat. No one who might notice them will wonder why a respectable woman, like herself, allows him to sit on the same bench. She notices his waistcoat bulges over his pocket, as if he'd crammed it full of papers.<br>'Nice weather.' The stranger in the suit remarks.  
>'It is, yes.' The woman glances around, smooths her yellow dress, then consolidates her conclusion that nobody is in earshot. 'Did the drop go okay?'<br>'Sure did. The goods will be heading to orbit soon. You sure you don't want to be cut into this new game?'  
>'Very sure.'<br>'It's going to make a lot of money.' He pauses for a smug smile. 'Especially now. Poor old Saxa is getting the data into orbit way easier than hiring a private array.'  
>'How lovely for you.' She says sarcastically.<br>'Sure don't see why anyone is paying me to transmit that thing. In fact, I've been thinking.'  
>'I wish you wouldn't.'<br>He slides closer, dropping his voice he says. 'Why is it so damn important? I was thinking I could maybe find out.'  
>'Don't tell me.' The woman stands up gathers her bags and pats the man on the shoulder twice. 'I never approved of this scheme, plan, thing and I don't want to know any details.'<br>'Okay, okay' The man says with his arms spread wide. 'Not a single word more.'  
>'Thank you. This could be dangerous.'<br>'Ah, hell. I know what I'm doing.'  
>'Really?' The woman takes his passport out of his bag and hands it to him. 'You'll need to be more alert than this.'<br>'Damn you!' He laughs. Shaking his head he returns the passport to his shirt pocket, beneath his waistcoat. 'I wont be meeting anyone as goods as you though.'  
>'Let us both hope. I'd hate to have competition.'<br>'Say!' he cocks his head, considering her.' 'That thing in your hair is about to fall out.'  
>She feels her braid and locates the small gem pin that holds it in place, removing it for a second she secures it to a more secure place, ensuring her hair keeps its style for the next few hours.<br>'You know.' The man goes on. 'With the money you could buy a lot more of those things.'  
>'I don't care.' The woman stalks off, but a couple of metres away she stops. 'Be careful, will you?' She calls out, not looking back.<br>'You bet.' The man flashes a grin. His voice drops. 'See you when I get back from Freeland.'

In order to make it to the orientation Tim had to get up much earlier than Verity. Taking the train to the district, then walking to the shuttle pad, he arrives a small blue S-shaped hut. A small crowd has collected nearby. On the wall a sign hangs stating that no unauthorised personnel can have admittance.  
>'I don't get it, how do the colonists get in without getting mobbed?' Tim says to one of the military guards.<br>'They go in through the service entrance, round the side. You Tim right? I'll take you to where you need to be.' The guard says, lifting off their helmet, it becomes apparent that it's a woman. She has short bleached hair, a very pale blonde bordering on white. She leads him into an underground tunnel.  
>There's a large crowd outside the shuttle now, and it's still growing. Inside the control hub, men and women all line up around tables, looking out the floor to ceiling windows. Tim pauses by the door and looks over the many heads bobbing at the different shuttle entry queues. It doesn't appear that Chester or Sagan have arrived yet.<br>He pulls out his mobile computer, a small handheld device, and turns on the wireless. The team leaders had been given special ones that transmitted their location, maybe he could use that to find Saxa. On the screen a small blip appears, turning in that direction he sees Saxa. He's standing alone, leaning against a table, with a protein shake in hand. For a moment he wonders if there's a second transmitter at Saxa's location, but Saxa spots him, grins and waves. Tim makes his way over, the signal is getting stronger on his handheld, but he's not looking at it anymore, when he's close enough his handheld bleeps and data is being downloaded.  
>'Hey, Tim!' Saxa calls out. 'I'm glad you can come on, gonna need all the help I can get.'<br>'Wouldn't miss it for the world. Say, you going ahead?' Walker states, dropping his voice for the question.  
>Saxa says something but Tim can't hear in the roar of a shuttle taking off. Feeling a tap on his leg he smiles, then realises he's not being tapped. The handheld attached to his waist is vibrating. Looking at it a bust of light floods the screen. Flames, a tower of flames – he can see it clearly, a mushroom of red spiralling flames, oddly silent, with some kind of wave flying away. A picture, not flames, is forming. It seems that he can almost see it, a logo, maybe? The ARC logo? Tim finds himself staring at the screen, currents of silver cascade across the screen as if it's thinking. He sees the ARC logo leading a collection of dots, they're merging, multiplying and spreading. The data scrolls across the screen and the system begins a cascade failure. He begins to panic, the handheld is turning black as the screen shuts down then he stops staring, blinks, and the handheld as returned to its normal state.<br>'You okay?' Saxa asks, puzzled at the fear in Walker's eyes.  
>'Yeah, look that chip thing, that the blackmailer gave you, don't take it today. It's wireless, I don't want to see that program again.' Tim says, pinching his own arm.<br>'It looks like a simple chip, an ARC one.'  
>'Not just a chip, it's Great Mistake tech, I can feel it. From before the dark age. ARC must have archived it, ancient program. Look it's weird ok and it can only spell disaster.'<br>'Yeah, it's real. I'll leave it on the ground for today.'  
>'Good, you go orientate those techs. I need to get back and tell Verity about this, things just got a million times more serious.'<p>

'Well, shit.' Verity says. 'From the way you describe it, this data sounds really ugly.'  
>'Yeah.' Walker thinks for a moment. 'Or it was until, like, you could really see it. You hear tell, the ARC have got better processors than anyone. They even have theorised quantum computers.'<br>'I've heard that, and read that. Bet it was that program he was hiding, if it works like you say it would be on his home computer.'  
>Verity swivels on her chair to the computer desk, Waluyo's face is on the screen. 'You've been listening in on this right?'<br>'I have made notes on everything that Timothy said.' He says over the direct link. 'His recitation was a bit muddled so I cannot claim to have all of the relevant points. You are certain it was the program that caused the variations in the screen?'  
>'I don't know what else it could have been?' Tim says, jumping on the sofa and sprawling out.<br>'Well, I was wondering if you'd consumed large quantities of beer.'  
>Before he could respond Verity cut in. 'Waluyo, see what you can find out about this data, okay? Cross-index and follow any references to the Great Mistake, particularly artefacts, inside America.'<br>'Certainly, Vez.'  
>Suddenly the building begins to shake. From outside a noise builds from a deep rumble to whine, then back to a rumble followed by a roar. From the nearby launch pad a rocket is taking off, everyone can guess with one.<br>'Must be Saxa's shuttle.' Tim says. 'Lucky fools.'  
>Verity gets up, walks over to the window, and opens the blind. Outside, she can see the shuttle swirling far overhead, dancing in the sky. When Verity left the military, retiring to escape court martial, she chose to spend her retirement, or more her exile, in New Sydney. Only a stones throw away from Hutama, her ex-benefactor and a short walk from Sagan, her former colleague and family member. Another reason was the easier way of staying at the forefront of politics without being involved, but now she was tied in again, internationally.<br>'You sure do miss the action.' Timothy says, walking up behind her.  
>'Yeah. If only you'd been amongst it, you'd know why.'<br>'Oh, I dunno. I had my fair share of the Slavic Incident.'  
>'You worked with Clifton didn't you, that's when you broke the law.'<br>'Yup, did it to save him. Tried to keep it quiet, long enough for me to get into Freeland but it was could have blown up at any minute. Y'know?'  
>'Ah come on, it wasn't too much of a risk.'<br>'Only because I kept it that way, when I revealed it at the presentation I was testing and now we know what Freeland is. It's a prison for the good.'  
>Verity has to laugh, after taking a quick breath she speaks. 'I think that I wasn't bothered by my job to start with because as I kid we were always on the run, me and my family. If Dad was out of jail we knew he'd be back in before we had a chance to get used to him again. If he was in we were always wondering when he'd get out and make our lives miserable. You learn how to shove fear away, to box it up and make sure it doesn't mess with the rest of your life.'<br>'So you did get scared on your operations?'  
>'Sometimes. You'd be crazy not to be, sometimes. But out there, under the layers of subterfuge, you're free, somehow, with all the crap in your life left behind. I wish I could show you how it feels, what it's like to be the centre of a layered plot.'<br>'Yeah? Well I was caught up in the Slavic Incident and I was not all that impressed. I don't mean to put it down though. Maybe some time we can go back out to those places, the military can't stop you hopping on a trade vessel.'  
>When she closes her eyes she has a different vision, not of the cold Slavic wastelands but of deep space, looking out an observation window at a foreign planet with pillars of nebula gas spiralling close enough to touch.<p>

At intervals during the night, Verity monitors what Waluyo is doing concerning the search for information on the ARC's Mistake, as she and Walker had started calling the artefact program. Since many scholars consider Great Mistake artefacts to be one of the premier valuables on Earth, they both have to wade through enormous quantities of material. Some include videos of life before the Mistake and links to museums. After six hours of hacking neither has turned up a files worth of directly relatable facts.  
>'Do you want to take a break?' Verity asks.<br>'It's fine, to keep myself refreshed I've been keeping up to date on the search for that Karl person. It seems highly probable these stem from the same route, he did work in Data Analysis for the ARC.'  
>'Agreed, anything new?'<br>'Nothing on Karl, but there is something else.' He flashes a grin, and then looks concerned. 'It concerns one of the four highest probability matches for the individual that is menacing that Saxa techie.'  
>A file transfer begins on Verity's computer, it's a file for a man in his thirties with neatly trimmed dreadlocks and an expression of belligerent exhaustion. The caption gives the file number for his arrest and a name.<br>'This chap, Eren Arkhub, is reputed to have performed illegal services for both the ARC and everyone else.'  
>'The Americans, huh? Good work Waluyo! So what's this dude got himself doing now?'<br>'Nothing, but he has had stuff done to him. His body has just been found near the Bazaar. The death has been classified as homicide, no suspects.'  
>'Murdered? Oh crap!'<br>She stares are the picture, it matches Saxa's description but she needs to eliminate the possibility of coincidence.  
>'Find out what the time delay is for calling Freeland. I think Saxa needs to see this.'<br>'Very well, I have the Freeland orientation schedule so they should be on a break at the moment. A relatively private situation.'  
>'Waluyo I don't know what I'd do without you.'<br>'Without each other, Vez, we would both have gone insane from boredom. I'm sending you the communication codes now.'

Chester has just finished looking at the hygiene facilities for the colony when a comm unit activates. He can hear Sagan swearing at the unit, which bleats in several tones and squawks. Chester runs into the room in time to rescue the unit and the call both.  
>'You push this button here.' Chester says demonstrating. 'The green one on the screen that's green and says "accept" on it.'<br>'Too damn fancy for me.' Sagan mutters, retreating to her perch next to one of the colonist quarters on the landing craft.  
>On screen, the green logo of Polystralia appears.<br>'We have a time-delay communication from a Polystralian named Verity, a resident of New Sydney.' The unit's AI voices lilts and chirps. 'Will you accept? The lag per communication is estimated at two minutes.'  
>'I'll accept, yes.' Chester states.<br>'Loading stored communication. Beginning play back now.'  
>Slowly, a few smears and streaks at a time, Verity's pixelated face forms on the screen. She has just become recognisable when the audio begins playing.<br>'Hey Miss Sagan! Hope you're having fun up there. I got some images for you to look at – those colonist prospects I told you about. You maybe could use one as a replacement if you decide to kick the bucket sometime soon. Could you get Saxa to look at their stats and tell me what he thinks? It's important we do this right now. Someone else might call them internationally if we don't identify an option soon so he will have to tell me which one's the man we want.'  
>Chester catches his breath. Verity sounds urgent enough to establish that something unpleasant is developing planetside. 'Sending answer.' He says aloud, pausing. 'This be Chester Siriam, Verity. Sure, transmit the images, and I'll get Saxa to look them over as soon as I can. Everybody is resting now, I'll go grab him after lunch.'<br>'Answer accepted, sending reply.' The AI chortles. 'Transmission successful, waiting for reply.'  
>Chester glances at the clock in the corner of the screen. Still a hundred seconds to go. He sits down on a simple supportive chair. Green dominates the room, without the bare walls and simplistic tools, Chester concludes, the place would look overbearing.<br>'Sounds to me.' Sagan says. 'Like Verity really needs Saxa to look at these dudes, whether he wants to or not.'  
>'Sure does.' Chester affirms. 'Think you can get him to?'<br>For an answer Sagan merely smiles.


End file.
